


Lone Wolf

by raven_aorla



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, Clinical Depression, Cousin Peter Trying Hard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Loss of Parent(s), Musical-Typical Racebending, Suicide, Washington D.C., food insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 22:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: It had been frightening to move to Knox Hill, far away from anything they’d ever known. His little brother was barely walking and talking again when Mama's funeral happened, and their cousin Peter Lytton had introduced himself and sadly, gently taken them with him.





	Lone Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> This is also "Romulus and Remus", chapter 2 of [Wedding Present](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10751955/chapters/23860032%0A). There it's a flashback in a story that's mostly about Jim reuniting with Alexander for his wedding with Eliza. While that fic is meant to be readable to newcomers, it's part of a larger AU in which Alexander ended up being taken in by the Washingtons, though we don't see him until he's almost done with graduate school at Columbia. 
> 
> That's why this story is set in D.C, as there aren't any substantial impoverished areas around Mount Vernon and nearby parts of Northern Virginia. This backstory is actually just a small detail in a series that involves a huge ensemble cast. I thought maybe some people who don't feel like tackling all the surrounding stuff might be interested in this on its own.

It had been frightening to move to Knox Hill, far away from anything they’d ever known. His little brother was barely walking and talking again when Mama's funeral happened, and their cousin Peter Lytton had introduced himself and sadly, gently taken them with him. None of Dad’s relatives came for them, let alone Dad. The boy most people called Alex but Mama and Jim called Alejo, from back when Jim couldn’t say “x” sounds, was sure this was a misunderstanding or accident. Dad would find out and come back and get them. He was sure.

Jim let him be sure, while Jim was very unsure. The kid needed things to hold onto. All little Alexander Hamilton really had was his hope, a tolerance for pain, a couple of relatives, and his top-notch brain. In a short period of time, Alejo had gone through near-death to horrible grief to culture shock to being bullied to an inch of his life for being small and teacher’s pet and intense and weird, ADD, hyper, freak show, and why do you speak English with a Scottish accent? (Jim didn’t get bullied much. He was more normal, and quiet, good at imitating the Boricua accent more expected of him, and very good at baseball.)

Jim told him that telling them their original accent was because they’d mostly practiced English with Dad wouldn’t help. He wished he could stick up for his brother in person, but Jim had been placed in Junior High. So Alejo solved the accent problem by watching Arthur and The Magic School Bus and copying how the kids talked. “I want to sound like PBS kids. I don’t want to sound like I’m from Scotland, or Puerto Rico, or stupid dumb Knox Hill, Ward 8, District of STUPID Columbia.” Jim didn’t mind sounding more and more like Peter, who was half-Latino and half-African American and only spoke English.

Knox Hill was an underserved neighborhood in D.C's least successful ward. It didn’t have as bad crime as some other places in D.C but it didn’t look like a pleasant place to them. To make matters worse, they arrived in the fall and it was much colder and grimier here, even though there were a few bright trees in the nearby park. At their old home, plants and flowers grew all year round unless you stopped them. Peter said that it was like that here, too, when you got out of the city, different plants and maybe slower, but still. They’d get out of the city when he had time. And gas money. And his car wasn’t making strange noises. And when it was a day off that Peter didn’t spend lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, except to use the toilet and make sure the boys were accounted for. Those four things never happened at the same time.

When it was almost payday but not quite, sometimes Peter would pretend to have already eaten, so that the boys would get their fill that evening. Jim had confronted him about this, and Peter said that if anyone decided he wasn’t feeding them enough, they’d get taken away. He’d be fine. “Growing children need to eat more regularly. Grownups can skip sometimes, no worse for wear.”

Jim had narrowed his eyes but played along, not wanting Peter to get in trouble. Alejo was smart, but he didn’t know about how things were for grownups. In his mind, “Uncle” Peter’s fasting was only alarming if it might mean he was sick, in which case Alejo would flip out. Another day, one of Peter’s less numb-robot days, Jim had asked why they couldn’t get financial assistance or food stamps like the friends Jim had made at school. Peter put his face in his hands and apologized again, and again, but when he was younger he’d done drugs, he said, and spent a few months in county jail.

“Now if I ask for money to help you, they all think it might be for drugs, and if I ask for stamps, they say I make too much money to qualify, no matter if I disagree. I’m sorry. I’m a mess. You’d be better off with someone else, but I’m trying, I really am, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Jim.”

Jim was very grateful that Alejo had popped in and asked to go to the park, because he’d had no idea how to get Peter out of that scary loop. It turned out the chance to easily do something nice for his cousins was enough. He even smiled in the sunlight as he tossed the grubby but useable tennis ball.

The next day, Jim stayed back during lunchtime for a few minutes and asked his favorite teacher if a family that didn’t qualify for welfare or stamps might still qualify for the reduced price lunch, and if so, what had to be done. She nodded, serious but kind, and gave good advice.

With the money saved on lunches, dinners got better. In the sense of there being enough of them. Not a lot of fresh things, because the stores that sold fresh things were far away and the buses were complicated and scary and Peter’s car just kept breaking down, and their fridge (which came with the apartment) was small and sometimes broke. Sometimes Peter got really worried about this and took both of them on a long bus ride and walked with them the rest of the way, and they bought what made sense to buy, and all three helped carry it home. They couldn’t do that all the time.

Then Peter started eating less even when there was enough for all three of them, and he took the maximum number of days off from work, and he didn’t laugh at jokes at all when he used to do it sometimes. Not real laughs. One time when Alejo came up to him with big eyes and a tone of excitement at maybe having solved a mystery, and asked, “Did you have a secret girlfriend who broke up with you?” Peter let out a high pitched sort-of-laugh.

Seeing he’d alarmed both boys, Peter took a deep breath and reached out to fondly tidy Alejo’s hair. “I’m not big on dating, buddy. I’m more a lone wolf type. Lone wolf with a pair of cubs.”

“Wouldn’t that make you a lady wolf?” Alejo pointed out. “Male wolves in a pack might help out, but I don’t think lone male wolves are great with cubs.”

“You’re quite the zoologist, aren’t you?” It sounded like it was meant to be fun teasing, but it was flat. It sounded flat. His smile was pasted on. “It doesn’t matter. Mama wolf to my two brave cubs, then.”

Then one weekend, Peter seemed to feel much better. That Friday as the boys got home from school, he met them at the door, meaning he’d come home from work early. Jim hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble at work for that.

“Would you guys be okay with getting all your homework done tonight? Maybe we could go into the nice part of the city tomorrow. You got here in October and school’s almost out for the summer and you’ve never been to the National Mall, or, or the Smithsonian museums -”

Alejo raised his hand. “My class went to the Air and Space Museum on a field trip.”

Peter smiled. Actually smiled, it crinkling his eyes and everything. “That’s okay. That one’s always crowded, and there are others to choose from. I got the money together to fix my car and fill up the tank, and we’ll park it at the nearest Metro station and take the subway there. We can get up early. Hit a bunch of spots. And on Sunday maybe we could go see a movie?”

“You’ve only taken us to a movie once,” Alejo said, suspicious. He’d been getting less and less gullible over the months. “For Christmas. Also, you said it would take a few hundred bucks to fix your car.”

Peter shrugged. “I won a lottery scratch card. Not a big prize, but enough for fixing the car and special treat.”

“You never buy scratch cards.”

“I...uh...um...I felt like...trying something new. Okay? No need to get on my case about it. C’mon, get your homework done.”

They were a wonderful two days. Peter had shown periods of cheerfulness, or at least okayness, in the past, but this was the first time in at least six weeks, and it was more cheerful than even then. The Smithsonian museums - they skipped the zoo because Jim had been the zoo when the baseball team celebrated a major winning streak - were free, so no worries there. They ate the sandwiches they brought while walking from building to building instead of going to any of the expensive museum cafeterias. Peter unexpectedly bought the boys an Italian Ice each when he saw them gazing longingly at the cart.

They went to the movie on Sunday and enjoyed it very much, though Alejo got upset when he stepped on a sticky patchy of spilled soda and it made the sole of his shoe sticky. Jim calmed him down and when they got home he sat Alejo down with a juice box and cleaned the shoe.

He noticed Peter watching them with a weird look on his face. Sad and happy and loving all at once. “What?”

“You take such good care of Alex. Always do that, okay?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Alejo grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sometimes people aren’t fine, and need someone to take care of them. Sometimes they don’t have…they don’t have someone. To do that. But you do, Alex, and you can take care of Jim right back.”

“You take care of us too,” Jim pointed out.

“Yes.” Peter cracked his knuckles. “Maybe let’s go sit on the fire escape after dark with the binoculars and look for the meteor shower we’re supposed to be having? I won’t keep you up too late, of course, but hey, maybe we’ll never get a chance to see something like that again. Might as well try.”

“You’re being weird,” Alejo said. “Nice weird, but weird.”

Peter stared into space for a moment before looking at them again. “I, uh, was trying to make a big, personal, adult-type private decision, and I was really worried about it, and now I’ve made up my mind and I feel better about having made a decision. Okay? Who wants mac and cheese with a side of carrot sticks before the carrots start looking horror movie?”

In the morning, Peter hugged them both, which was unusual but not completely new, before making sure they had joined the group of other kids from their housing project who’d walk to the school bus stop with a chaperone. The elementary school and junior high school used different sets of buses, but the same stops. What was less usual was Peter whispering, “Alexander, James, I love you so much, and that is the realest thing I have felt for a long time. Goodbye. You’ll do great.”

On the way, Jim realized he’d forgotten a pair of scissors he was going to return to a friend, who hadn’t made fun of him for not having any at home to use for their project. He decided he’d miss the bus if he went back. He could return the scissors tomorrow. Besides, he was pretty sure she had a crush on him, and so he could do no wrong in her eyes.

It was a normal day at school. In later life, Jim couldn’t remember for the life of him any aspect of it at all, except that he’d had baseball practice. Therefore, Alejo had gone home earlier. They had a few neighbors he was able to ask for help if he needed it.

Jim entered the apartment and flicked the light on. When Alejo was in their room, he turned off the other lights to save electricity. It was very quiet in here.

“Alejo? Hello?” Maybe Alejo had gotten a neighbor to take him to the library with her own children who often went for Story Time. Maybe he’d left a note in a super obscure place to inform his family. He’d done it before, to everyone’s brief panic then lengthy annoyance.

Their room was empty. Jim then noticed that Peter’s room, further down the hallway, had Peter’s light , the door left open and the light spilling across the floor. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Peter’s lighting came from an old chandelier that looked totally out of place. A clunky, solid thing, with way too many curly bits. Maybe someone got it at a yard sale a long time ago. The light spilled into the hallway like a knife. Jim would always remember that the light had looked like a knife.

He heard a whimper, and ran in to see if Alejo was hurt.

And he was, in a matter of speaking. He was curled in a ball in the closest corner to the door, breathing shallowly and covering his eyes. A scrap of paper must have fallen out of his hand before he pressed it against his face, so small, so thin, shaking. “His note...it told me not to look.”

Jim, like most human beings ever, had to look.

Peter was dangling from the ceiling, rope around his neck. His body looked rigid, so Jim guessed that he’d been dead for hours. Had he done it the moment after he’d sent them off?

If Jim had run back for the scissors and caught him at it, could he have stopped him?

Alejo pointed at the note with one finger, without otherwise uncovering his eyes. “‘Don’t go into my room. Call the landlord. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’ Then I turned it over and it said that he’s got some savings bonds or something that we can have and use when they’re ready to cash in, but I don’t want those! I want him!

Jim couldn’t move at first, but then his brother started crying again. It was the dried-out crying where you’ve cried so much that when you still need to cry you can’t do it properly anymore. He couldn’t hug Alejo in this position, really, so he sort of draped himself over him. “I’m going to call 911.”

Alejo couldn't keep his languages straight for the rest of the conversation. “I can’t move. Don’t leave me. There’s something new inside. A voice saying...”

“I’m going to come back in a sec. If you can’t get up because you’re too upset, just wait a sec okay.”

“Alex, you gotta fend for yourself. He said that. Someday. Not this soon. They'll split us up now that he's gone, Jim, I know it.”

Jim went shush nicely again and squeezed him gently and tried to get up. “No they won't. Give me a minute, I swear -”

“Don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleavemeDON’TLEAVEME!”

Jim’s heart was shattering, along the same fault lines as it had when Dad left, and then when Mama died, but he had to be the responsible one here. When Dad left, Mama had been there to take care of them. When Mama died, the sympathetic nurse and doctor and nice neighbors and Peter had been there to take care of them.

Right now, there was only Jim. And he couldn’t waste time on tears, because he had no control who lived and who died, and he needed to tell a story to the police and he needed to not be crying. No crying. Not right now. James and Alexander, always, always, no matter what. He promised to be right back.

**Author's Note:**

> PSA:
> 
> People who resort to suicide (I prefer that to "commit", which sounds like a crime) from mental illness are not irresponsible or weak. Their brains torment them with thoughts such as that everyone will be better off without them, and that they are worthless, and life is pointless, and things will. Never. Get. Better. A not uncommon phenomenon in someone who has made up their mind to resort to suicide is that they will suddenly seem more cheerful than they have in ages - because they finally don't have to fight anymore. They'll be at rest soon.
> 
> Anyone considering it (why not, I read fic when I myself had suicidal ideation): your brain is lying. You are worth hope and help. Life is worth another day. 
> 
> In addition to a few lyrics from the musical, this took some inspiration from "Up the Wolves" by The Mountain Goats. Particularly when it says there will be a day when you feel better, but, _"Just when that day is coming, who can say? Who can say? Our mother has been absent every since we founded Rome, but there's gonna be a party when the wolf comes home."_


End file.
